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<title>get up (rise. stand tall. be brave.) by KrazySuperGirl</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714191">get up (rise. stand tall. be brave.)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazySuperGirl/pseuds/KrazySuperGirl'>KrazySuperGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study-ish, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:41:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazySuperGirl/pseuds/KrazySuperGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In any world, one thing that remains true about Batman is that he never stays down.</p><p>In any world, one thing that remains true about perseverance is that it’s never necessary in the easy situations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>get up (rise. stand tall. be brave.)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bruce wakes to the glow of a new day dawning, the clouds outside beginning to lighten, showing themselves through a crack in the curtains. Bruce’s eyes are blurred with sleep and his limbs feel heavy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his parents are dead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had only laid down in his bed to appease Alfred’s worries, but he had dozed off sometime in the night. This moment of rest feels like a betrayal. He feels as if life shouldn't go on. He shouldn't be going to sleep and waking up again in the morning as if that night had never happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s head is swimming and his blood is beating the rhythm of an alarm as some nameless poison flows through his body. It makes everything ache, and he isn't sure what’s real anymore, but he knows he will face displeasure if he fails. Whose, he isn't sure. His mind muddles through itself, dredging up possible answers. Father. Mother. Trainer. Alfred. Gotham.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s bed is filthy with certain substances. Beside him is a woman whose name he purposely didn't learn. Another one, here to use him for his fame, for his money, for his reputation, for his abilities. Another one, here for him to use for a cover. The mission is more important than his feelings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzes. The mission calls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce holds his arm carefully, and his ribs even more carefully. They scrape and shift when he moves, sending spikes of pain through his body, while a gash in his side spills red onto Gotham’s soil. His ears ring, and the cape is a tattered mess hanging from his shoulders. He can't move without agony, without damaging what is already broken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the latest supervillain is stalking away from him, towards his goal with too many people as fodder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce shifts his trajectory so that his attack only knocks Dick off-balance instead of permanently incapacitating him as it was designed to do. Dick lands firmly on his back and blinks up at the far-off ceiling as he recovers his breath. He’s still not fast enough, not strong enough, not trained enough. He’ll get killed out there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce gives him an order.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce ignores the feel of droplets of spit landing on his face. Harvey’s good side twists along with his bad side so that every part of him expresses the contempt and anger that his words tell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harvey’s hands are yanked back by the shackles when he lunges too far, and the guards outside pound on the door yelling about coming in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s lungs are filling with smoke, and a piece of burning wreckage is close to impaling his foot, but those trivial problems are overshadowed by the great weight that occupies his arms. A broken mask stares unseeing while red fabric flaps in the wind where it’s been torn and pale skin is beginning to cool.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Far away, emergency services will be making their way to where he is while a head of green hair makes its way in the opposite direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce is bleeding again. Another injury. It could have been avoided. An amateur could have done better. But here he is, bleeding out again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him wants to let it happen. Let it all drain out of his body until he’s gone. But there’s a voice in his head, the voice of a boy he loves...loved, and it’s derisive, mocking, scornful, disappointed, accusing...heartbroken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tim doesn’t say much to Bruce when he doesn’t have to. Bruce’s waking hours are full of ghosts, and Tim fits right in. So much so that Bruce barely notices himself looking through the boy, seeing others in his place. Bruce keeps his distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is yet another criminal for Tim to handle alone. Batman can't stand the sight of Robin anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce forces his expression to remain neutral when he catches a glimpse of the battle on the television screen. Red and Blue get crushed by a grotesque monster, and that superhuman figure doesn't get back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An entire planet enters the first stage of grief for its precious hero, and Bruce goes down to his Cave as he has every night for years. There’s work to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick’s papers are scattered around him, and his shoes are scuffed. His shirt is coming untucked, and his pants are getting dirty from the floor. Around him, people walk past with indifference or even scorn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His coworkers at the BPD don't know who helped get names for Internal Affairs - Bruce knows Dick is too good to let that happen - but that doesn't mean they can’t have suspicions. The scene in front of Bruce makes their hatred plain enough, and he mentally begs the young man to show that strength that so many villains haven’t been able to beat out of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce surveys the damage from one of the remaining high points in the city. Everywhere he turns, Gotham is broken, cracked open and destroyed. And Bruce stands here, the white lenses of his mask glinting uselessly in the dark. Gotham is a rabid, filthy, bloody, </span>
  <em>
    <span>unshakeable</span>
  </em>
  <span> city, but when the ground shook, she fell apart. Fell down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For years, Bruce has been picking up the rough, jagged pieces of his city and holding them together until he himself is bloodier than her, and now that effort seems wasted. All that’s left is rubble and starvation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce wakes to alcohol burning through his veins, a myriad of bruises covering his body, and another child buried. Not that Bruce can truly call Stephanie a child, and certainly not </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> child, but that’s irrelevant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce has just ordered all other vigilantes to leave Gotham. Even Robin. Even Batgirl. Even Oracle. Tonight, for the first time in almost fifteen years, Batman will be truly alone. Bruce is sorely tempted not to leave this chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce is thrown hard by the explosion, and he must break at least one rib when he lands. It’s sloppy. He should have been able to control his landing. But there’s a mushroom cloud over Gotham’s sister city, and smoke rising over the rubble of the building that had, just seconds ago, held a boy whose face Bruce had only ever expected to see again in dreams, or after he died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one could have survived either explosion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce doesn’t know where he is. Or, more accurately, Bruce doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is. He just knows there are people coming after him. He needs to move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce is tired. He’s been running and hiding and fighting like this for nearly a year...or two seconds...or five centuries. He doesn’t know anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get up, Master Bruce,” Alfred is saying, “you have three hours to get ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun doesn’t stream into the room to assault Bruce’s eyes when Alfred throws the curtains open. As it always is and always will be in Gotham, it’s cloudy. And even if it weren’t, it’s afternoon, and the sun would be on the other side of the house. But Alfred’s point is made. There’s a gala to get ready for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick had said once, when he was a child, that Bruce is brave for the way he attends galas and fundraisers and balls despite the fact that they go completely against his nature. Bruce doesn’t necessarily agree. His definition of bravery seems to be different from Dick’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this gala is important for his company, and on top of that, there have been some nastier than usual rumours going around about his family, which he can smooth over at the gala. Besides, it’s good to be informed of what’s going on in Gotham’s high society. It will be torturous and difficult, but it’s necessary. And maybe one of the kids will decide to have mercy on him and keep him company.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So here Bruce is. Being brave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get up, Batman. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The little girl’s shirt has a hole in it. It’s an odd thing to notice, but people tend to notice odd things when they’re laying on the ground with bullet wounds and broken bones and concussions the way Bruce is. What Bruce really should be noticing is that fear is making the girl’s voice high and shaky, or maybe that the girl was a bystander and could have gotten hurt in the confrontation Bruce just got out of, or even that little girls really shouldn’t be attempting to help injured vigilantes to their feet in the middle of the night in the warehouse district.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does notice those things, of course, but he’s slightly more focused on the hole in her shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s also trying to convince himself not to pass out. He can hear sirens as the police make their way here. The operation Bruce just dismantled was a large one, and well-equipped. They had been making trouble for a long time, and, dirty or not, the cops will be happy to put them away. But that doesn’t mean they’ll be happy to see him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there’s a little girl with a hole in her shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce may have won against the criminals, but his job isn’t over yet. Besides, scared kids take precedence over personal desires to pass out after being injured.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, because Batman’s large shape on the rooftops at night has always been a source of nightmares for criminals but a source of comfort for kids, and because he refuses to let this girl believe she’s watching Batman die, Bruce steels himself, pushes himself up, to his elbows, then his hands, then his knees, and he stands, as strong and as tall as he can manage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Get up, Bruce!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stephanie shoves his shoulder as hard as she can, to little effect. “We’re going to be late!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce continues typing on the tablet in his hands. “Damian specifically said he doesn’t want any of us coming.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes he does.” Stephanie retorts. “Besides, everybody’s already going anyways. Even Tim and Jason.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason is only going so he can tease Damian about his part in the school play, and Tim is only going for the blackmail material, but Bruce doesn’t point that out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stephanie adds, “I wouldn’t even care, but we need you to drive us, so you’re going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For various reasons, Stephanie and Cassandra can’t drive themselves to Damian’s school today, and everyone else is unavailable. Bruce is considering adding “personal chauffeur” to his list of skills.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce looks up to see Cassandra giving him an impish grin. Then he realizes it’s because she’s stolen his car keys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce gives a nod made to look reluctant, and Stephanie pumps her fist in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce was going to go whether Stephanie and Cassandra had tried to convince him or not, but that’s not the point. With a smile dancing just out of sight on his face, Bruce holds out a hand for his keys as he rises from his chair.</span>
</p>
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